


Autassassinophiliac

by hayvocado



Series: Series of Sin [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, F/M, Gun Fellatio, Gunplay, Hair Pulling, It isn't totally non con, Kitchen Sex, Oral Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Table Sex, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, autassassinophilia, but it can seem like it depending on your view, i tagged just in case, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 23:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6680188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hayvocado/pseuds/hayvocado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rough day at the office calls for a late night glass of your best friend: vodka. When you go into the kitchen, however, there's something else waiting for you.</p><p>~~~~~</p><p>Autassassinophilia (n): a paraphilia in which a person is sexually aroused by the risk of being killed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Autassassinophiliac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambyliz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambyliz/gifts).



> I'm so glad this was suggested because this has been sitting in my drafts for approx. seven centuries, so I touched it up, and here you go!!
> 
> Leave suggestions for more sinful things, I am a trashcan and I accept any and all garbage (*^_^*)

"Vodka, at this hour?"

The glass in your hand shakes violently as you slowly turn to the source of that gravelly voice. A man is sat at your dining room table, a horizontal panel of moonlight illuminating his eyes. The rest of his body is resting in a shroud of darkness. The cold dead blue of his gaze is triggering a pang of fear in your chest.

"I shouldn't be talking though, I basically bleed the stuff." A gentle chuckle escapes his lips. He rises slowly, and steps towards you, stopping a few feet away.

The light coming from above your stove lights up the rest of his face, the hazy yellow glow carving out his cheek hollows and his sharp jawline. He was clean shaven, with dark brown hair, brushing across his broad shoulders, framing what would, in any other circumstance, be considered one of the most handsome faces you've ever seen. Sharp brow bones hovering over eyes as sharp and clear as the sky's reflection, thick black lashes flaming those icy orbs. The sharpness in those eyes, however, forces your chest to twist a bit. At this point, his face laid atop the "Most Terrifying Faces" list.

The tactical gear clinging to his well built body glistens dully in the dim lighting. Leather. There is a gun holstered on each hip, and another on his right thigh. Quite a nicely toned thigh, you might add. Those leather pants are doing wonders for his body. You can see his arm glimmering in some kind of metal sleeve, but once you hear the whirring of plates accompanying the slight flex of his fist, you realize that that is his arm.

Another moment and it finally hits you like a bucket of bricks. Holy shit. _He's the fucking Winter Soldier._

His guarded eyes narrow calculatingly, and he takes another step closer. When you don't take one back, a small smirk plays on his mouth, a hint of mirth in his eyes.

"Either you're fuckin' terrified right now, or you're very, very stupid." He takes yet another step towards you, crossing his arms across his barrel of a chest, and he shifts his weight to one thickly muscled leg.

"Probably both," you do everything in your power not to sound as terrified as you feel. Your neck muscles are tense with fear, and it's as if your lungs are being squeezed by invisible fists.

His bark of a laugh nearly makes you cry out in surprise, your body instead settling on a violent flinch. You gently set the glass back onto the counter, next to your bottle of vodka. Its presence only makes the shaking of your hands more apparent.

"I know who you are, and what you do, so I'm beginning to think I know why you're here." Your voice is surprisingly even, and maybe a little tired sounding. Of course you knew why he was here. The Winter Soldier. A fucking assassin. _The_ fucking assassin. Assassins assassinate. You're another target.

"Oh?"

"Assassins kill people. I'm a people. You're an assassin. Two plus two is four, buddy." As soon as the words leave your mouth you wish you could grab them back and set them, and then yourself, aflame. _Snark your murderer, nice going, Y/N_. His eyes widen slightly, surprised at your boldness.

"I never did do too well in math class," he nods in what could almost be seen as approval. "But I do know that I'm not here to kill you."

"Oh?" You copy his previous statement, earning another smirk that feels strangely rewarding on your part. I mean, you just made this incredibly attractive assassin smile. _Wait, nope. Creepy thoughts. This guy's a murderer._

"I already took out my target for this week. Mission report isn't due for another-" he pauses to glance at the digital clock on your stove "-four hours and thirty seven minutes. I have some time and...energy to burn." The pause in his sentence leads your mind places that no soon-to-be-homicide-victim's mind should go. A knot twists up in your lower belly and you shift slightly.

"So you figured 'what the hell, time for some torture'?" You slap a hand over your mouth and your eyes widen. You can feel your brain begging you to shut the _actual_  fuck up. This guy is an assassin. Sarcasm probably won't help your situation, like, at all.

He chuckles lowly, standing back up at full height before leveling his gaze with yours. "I always did have a thing for the feisty ones." He takes another step towards you, closing the space between you two, and effectively trapping you between himself and the island. He leans down to settle his mouth just next to your ear and whisper to you huskily, lustfully. "You don't by any chance know Russian, do you?" He leans back with his eyebrows raised expectantly.

"Sorry to disappoint, champ." You murmur back. This was going south real quick. Were you actually flirting with an assassin? What in the actual flying mother of fu-

"Guess incoherency will have to do."

_Oh **shit**._

  
Before you can respond, his mouth smashes into yours. Both of your hands settle onto his broad chest while you tilt your head back to give him easier access. Why are you letting him kiss you?! He's a fucking murderer. Red flags are popping up everywhere because, holy shit, you're making out with an assassin. You go to pull away, but he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and tugs.

_Holy hellmouth._

  
His left hand, cold and metal, slides down to grasp your hip roughly through your silk nightgown, while his right hand snakes its way up under your hair to grip the back of your neck. You shiver at his touch. He squeezes your hip tightly, nearing painfully, and you moan quietly.

You hope he leaves bruises.

He's relentless, barely letting you up for breath. When you finally break away, it's only briefly enough for you to tug on his lip, rolling the now kiss-reddened appendage between your teeth. You bite down, likely harder than necessary, but enough to make a point.

Without a moment's hesitation he dives back in, rolling his tongue fervently with yours. Your hands slide from his chest to around the back of his neck, tugging him roughly towards you, silently pleading with him.

When all he does is continue to kiss you, you bring a hand up to rest just on his throat, and you pull away slowly. You brush your lips with his once again, and reconnect your heated gazes.

"Please." That was all you say, and that is apparently all he needs.

He grinds his hips into yours, pulling another rough moan from between your lips. The Asset smirks at you, and rolls his hips against yours again, never breaking eye contact.

"You want me, huh, babydoll?" You nod quickly, breaths heavy. He lifts you up by your thighs and spins you both around so your back now rests against the cold stainless steel of your refrigerator. The shocking contrast between his warmth at your front and the chill of the kitchen appliance at your back drags another ragged noise from your throat. "You don't even know me. I could be ready to snap your-" he drags surprisingly gentle hands down your neck, tapping your clavicle before pressing a chaste kiss to the hollow of your throat "-pretty little neck any moment now." He bites at the skin joining your neck to your shoulder, causing you to yelp quietly.

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest and he raises his head from your neck, looking into your eyes again. "But you like it, huh?" His metal hand grabs at your ass, kneading the soft skin there. "You like that I could just kill you now. You like the danger." The Soldier moves his flesh hand to squeeze your throat gently. Not enough to cause any damage, but enough for your heart rate to pick up, probably audible to his well-trained ears. He leans close to your ear, supple lips caressing the skin at your jaw. "You like the thrill."

Your legs involuntarily tighten, squeezing his waist, and he smiles against your cheek. God, you wish you could smack that smug look off of his gorgeous face. The bastard.

Without warning, he turns back around, and lays you down on your dining room table, which he'd been seated at just minutes ago. You hold yourself up on your elbows and look at the man standing between your legs.

He begins removing his tactical gear. A vest. A jacket. A shirt. Another shirt. This all gives way to the smooth planes of his chest and abs. Holy mother of all things pure and holy, this man is a walking stick of sex.

The moonlight creates the image of the Winter Soldier being made of marble. The soft yellowish glow casts shadows, carving out each and every line and curve, every dip and rise. You lick your lips as you take in the sheer beauty of the man before you.

Sitting up further, you move your hands from his neck to his firm pecs. You marvel at the smoothness of his skin. The pads of your fingers glide down the smooth expanse of pale skin. Your nails catch briefly on his nipples, and you smirk when his chest jumps slightly, his breath catching. Your fingertips continue their journey, and you run your fingers over the scars embellishing his torso. Faint, mainly healed, but still visible. They look like lightning, zipping across his abs.

Once you reach the waistband of his pants, your hands dancing over the belt buckle, you move them back up his body. Past the ridges of his abdominal muscles, the hills of his chest, and up to wrap around his neck. You move a hand to the back of his head and pull him closer by it, your lips a mere centimeter apart. The soft brushing of your lips pulls a low, animalistic noise from him. He immediately pushes his face closer, gripping your hips and pulling you flush against him.

Your left hand slides from his neck to rest on his bicep, and you squeeze there roughly. Using your right hand, you wind your fingers into his hair and pull gently at the roots. A low groan from the soldier leaves your lips buzzing and a smirk on your face. You pull once more, teasing him.

Before you can register what's happened, your back is flat against the cool wood of your kitchen table, and the Asset has your hands pinned above your head using just one of his. His face is close to yours, and you can see a malicious grin dancing across his sinful lips. That heart of yours, that should be carrying out its duty in your chest, is now in your gut. Everything is throbbing. An incessant low thrum of arousal and fear.

"Tsk, tsk, pretty. No teasing today." He nips at your jaw and neck, causing you to shiver. The soldier begins a trail of kisses wrapping from one side of your throat to the other. His flesh hand moves from your hip, sliding up your stomach and pulling at the fabric of your nightgown. His hand comes to a rest atop your breast, and you whimper quietly, wishing that hand would just fucking _do_ something.

When he refuses to move, you arch your back, pushing your chest further into his big hand. "Ah ah ah," his husky voice chastises you. "You can't tease me. _I_ , however, shall do just that." You huff and flatten your back against the table.

"But," he pauses to press another kiss just below your ear. "If you ask real nice, I may just give you what you want." You nod vehemently, eyes wide. The soldier leans up, his crotch coming into contact with your own, and you moan loudly. "Beg for me, printsessa." Another moan is drawn out of you.

"Fuck. Oh my god, _please_. Please fuck me. Shit, _please_." You gasp out the words heavily. In any other situation you would be ashamed of yourself for having given yourself to a man so easily, so willingly, shedding your dignity before him. Any other man wouldn't be worth your high pitched whine of a voice, or the quivering of your lower abdominal muscles. The way that your back arched off of the hard table was something that was earned.

This man could snap your neck in a second's notice. He fucking _earned_ your begging.

Your breathing is ragged and your chest is rising and falling quickly. You finally look back into those clear blue eyes, and in little more than a whisper, " _Please_ , Soldier."

It's as if something within him snaps, because in mere seconds, your nightgown is torn from your body, a mere pile of shreds on the floor, and your panties are well on their way to joining it. You gasp at the sudden exposure to the cold air as the soldier literally rips your panties off with his teeth. _If that isn't the hottest fucking thing..._

His eyes are on yours as he gets down on his knees, head between your legs, which dangle over the edge of the table. He begins a trail of kisses from your knee all the way to where your thigh meets your pelvis, but before he can finally get to the spot where you want him, his mouth is at your other knee, restarting the agonizingly long journey back up to your core.

Your chest tightens as he once again kisses up to mere millimeters from where you want him. Finally, oh god, fucking finally, his mouth is on you. His lips and tongue oh god they were everything you could have wanted. His tongue flicks against your clit and your whole body jolts. "Ahhh ff- _Fuck_!" You cry out, your back arching and hands flying to his brown locks, harshly tugging at the roots. He groans and you can feel the vibration all the way up into the nape of your neck and you shudder.

You can feel something deep down in your gut begin to tighten, to burn. A low flame beginning to flicker. You can feel your legs start to spasm, tightening around Winter's head. Your toes are curling and your hips are rolling and just as your orgasm is about to hit you like a tidal wave, he pulls away.

Your hands are still in his hair and you try to move his face back to your sex, but he does nothing of the sort. You finally release him, letting out an agitated whine and look up at the ceiling.

When you look back to the soldier, you see him standing straight up, still positioned between your shaking thighs. The smirk painting those delicious lips could kill a man. Hell, he could kill an entire nation with that look. If he doesn't get his head back down between my thighs, I could kill a nation.

"Not yet, baby. You don't get to come unless I say you get to come. Got it?" You're now sitting up, your chest still heaving from that glorious plateau. After an irritated glance his way, you look to the ground and grit your teeth a bit to bite back the sarcastic comment you almost growl out at him.

A single metal finger under your chin brings your face back up, your eyes now meeting a pair of glacier blocks. In them you could see the challenge. He wants you to go against him, so you could be punished. You nearly smirk at that, instead biting your lower lip and settling your eyes on his mouth, slick with your arousal.

"Yes, Sir." You murmur obediently. Raising your eyes back to his, you raise your brows coquettishly. His eyes narrow, catching on to your game. You tip open your mouth slightly, and tilt your head down. Your tongue plays with the tip of his metallic index finger before your lips close around it. Moving your left hand up to grasp his cold wrist, you begin to gently bob your head on the chilly appendage. You rub small circles into the underside of his wrist with thumb. After using the heat of your tongue to effectively warm up his index finger, you open your mouth again, prompting him to add a second finger. He obliges.

His eyes watch you carefully, as if committing each movement to memory. He licks his own lips while watching yours. Tongue diving between his fingers while his own darts out between his full pink lips. A shaky sigh vibrates his chest. You draw your mouth away, your left hand still on his wrist, guiding it.

You never break eye contact as you move his hand down to your heat. Pushing yourself to the edge of the table, you position Winter's hand at your entrance before pushing his fingers into you, where you are already significantly--okay, okay, nearly excessively--lubricated by your own arousal.

Knowing that he was still watching your face, you screw up your brows in pleasure, opening your mouth into a perfect little 'O', and you gasp breathily. With a buck of your hips, you release his wrist and bring both hands to his shoulders. The Soldier has yet to move outside of your guidance.

The Asset leans close to your ear, and holy _fuck_ , he growls, low, animalistic, intimidating, and so hot.

"Still not getting off easy, krasivaya devushka." He traces the tip of his tongue along the seashell curves of your ear, and uses his teeth to gently tug on your earlobe. You buck your hips again and moan loudly, both the Russian--he could've called you a hotdog stand, it was still all too sexy--and his growl aiding your belly in the further tightening of its coil.

Before you get the chance to ask him what to do next, he pushes you back slightly, the barrel of a gun that you hadn't even noticed he'd withdrawn from its holster pressing at your lips. Too shocked to make a noise, your eyes simply widen, and your heart starts doing a double dutch hop in your heaving chest. This is not how you expected this to go.

The Winter Soldier wraps the hand not currently holding the gun around your neck. The cold bite of metal at both your lips and your throat contrasted with the heat still flickering in your gut, and dully trickling at your thighs. The sensations stitch themselves all into one scenario creating the most intoxicating feeling, one that makes you want to moan. You know, if you weren't looking death down the barrel.

You bite back the noise working to free its way out of you, not wanting to disrupt the air that's settled around the kitchen table.

"Now," he flips the safety off, "I want you to suck it. Like it were my cock in your mouth. You understand?" You nod your head minutely, still too afraid to make a noise.

You open your lips slowly, reluctantly, once again inviting the taste of metal into your mouth. You gently move your head forward, closing your lips securely around the barrel. You obey, not because you want to, but because you know that disobedience can trigger--no pun intended--an unpleasant reaction.

This is sick. This guy can pull the trigger at any moment and your brains'll be on the wall.

You can feel your legs shaking, no longer in pleasure, but in fear. He's said it himself earlier: if he wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. You want to believe it, yet there is no good reason to. You have no reason to trust this assassin. He broke into your house. He decided to have his way with you. Not that you've complained... But if you had protested, you doubt that he would have backed off.

Fuck, this is such a _mess_.

Bobbing your head up and down the gun, you run your tongue along the bottom of the barrel, as if licking the base of the soldier's shaft. Pulling back slightly, you twirl your tongue along the tip of if, playing with the imaginary head. A grunt of approval shakes Winter's chest, and he begins to pull the gun away from your mouth.

"Such a good girl, hm, malyshka?" He withdraws his metal hand from around your throat, and brings his flesh hand to wrap around the base of your neck. "Now, I want you to blow me just like you did my SIG-Sauer. Understood?" A light caress of his thumb across your cheekbone causes a slight gasp to escape your lips, and you nod, slightly dazed.

Strong arms wrap around you and lift you from the table, moving you towards your living room. The soldier sets you down in front of the couch, and seats himself on the smooth brown upholstery. You raise yourself on your knees--thank god this assassin man thought about the toll that stupid tile would take on your knees--and lay your hands on either of his muscular thighs.

Slowly sliding your hands up his cargo pants, sticking to his inner thighs and far away from his weapons, you make your way up to his package, fully hard, and very impressive. Leaning forward, you mouth at the bulge through the rough fabric, gently dragging your tongue across the curve. When the Asset moves and nonchalantly throws his arms across the back of the couch, you start unbuckling his pants.

Pulling them down to pool around his ankles, not wanting to bother with the removal of shoes and weaponry, you drag your hands down his thighs, nails scraping red lines into his pale skin. Once again rising up onto your knees, you sit on your feet, and bring your hands to rest on his hips.

Meeting his gaze, you find him smirking smugly, face completely relaxed, no sign of desperate arousal--were you the only one who felt it? Probably.

You surge forward and wrap your lips around the head. Sucking energetically, you run your hands up his thighs and scratch across his abdomen. You swirl your tongue about the tip and dive your tongue into the slit. The Asset shudders above you, and you feel his thighs quiver on either side of you.

You glance up to see him biting down on his lower lip, head thrown back. You open your mouth around the head of his cock, and it slides to the back of your throat and the soldiers hips hitch up in surprise. You bob slowly at first, focusing on dragging your tongue roughly against the underside of his shaft. Every time you reach the tip you make sure to add an extra swirl of your tongue around the head.

His hand shoot to the back of your head and his fingers tighten in your hair. You moan around his dick, sending vibrations down his shaft, and you feel him shudder again. You increase your speed, feeling him begin to throb in your mouth. He pulls your hair back, signaling you to stop, and you pull away, pressing a wet kiss to the tip. Gazing up at him with innocent doe eyes, you lick your lips slowly, dragging the lower one between your teeth.

"I need to be in you, " he groans out. You stand up slowly, crawling into his lap, straddling his thighs. His hard gray eyes stare up at you as he settles his flesh hand on your hip, sliding the metal one up your spine. You shudder and smirk down at him.

"Yeah?" You ask breathily. The soldier nods his head, eyes raking down your naked form; you shudder under his gaze. A beat passes before his hand comes down on your ass. The sound of flesh hitting flesh registers before the sting of the blow. You gasp and roll your hips. He repeats the motion.

"Yeah," he grits out.

You move closer to him, pressing your upper body against his, gyrating against him. He groans, eyebrows furrowed. Grinning down at him, you guide his member to your entrance and slide him into you. The moment you roll your hips, he lets out a wrecked moan. You want to smirk down at hip, but he thrusts up, completely burying himself in you. You keen loudly and lean forward, hands on the soldier's shoulder, head in the crook of his neck.

" _Der'mo_. You're so fucking tight, angel." He groans into your shoulder when you bite down on the side of his neck. He returns the favor by slapping your ass again, and you whimper into his shoulder, trying not to mess up your rhythm.

You continue rocking on his lap, trying not to scream. He's stretching you so much and he's making the most unholy noises and _fuck_  you're getting light headed. You lean back to stare into his eyes, those fucking silver blue eyes. They're rimmed with the prettiest black lashes and you can see pleasure tears twinkling on them.

The metal hand slides up your back to the back of your neck and he pulls your forehead to rest against his. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth is screwed up. Growling, he slips his metal hand into your hair, tangling it at the roots.

"You gonna come for me, printsessa, huh? Gonna squeeze around my cock with your sweet little pussy?" You whimper and nod, closing your eyes so that you don't cry. _Fuck_  that feels fantastic. "I couldn't hear you, baby doll."

"Ah, y-yes soldier,” you barely get the words about between your whimpers.

“Well what are you waiting for?” He grabs you by your throat and flips you both around so you’re on your back beneath him. You state wide eyed as his hand squeezes tight around your throat.

His mouth is suddenly next to your ear and he’s growling “krichat' dlya menya” and suddenly you’re falling apart and then being crushed back together and you swear you can see God for a split second and maybe that’s you screaming and _fucking hell_  everything is buzzing with static and it hurts but it tastes so sweet.

A moment later, you register the gigantic assassin man lying on your chest, heaving with labored breaths. He looks up at you, face glistening with sweat. You want to laugh at his face, pink and sweaty, tongue hanging out of his mouth, but you think that if you even try, you’ll probably give yourself a hernia.

“That was fun,” he gasps out.

“Fuck yeah it was.” 

**Author's Note:**

> printsessa - princess
> 
> krasivaya devushka - pretty girl
> 
> malyshka - baby girl
> 
> der'mo - shit
> 
> krichat' dlya menya - scream for me


End file.
